


if you're all alone, pick up the phone

by notquitepunkrock



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: (thats reddie), Established Relationship, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Movie Night, Multi, One Shot, Pining, but its gentle, for like a second, maggie gives good advice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-18 04:49:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21855304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notquitepunkrock/pseuds/notquitepunkrock
Summary: Stan is in love with his best friends. It's a problem.Or is it?
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris
Comments: 8
Kudos: 156
Collections: IT Fandom Secret Santa 2019





	if you're all alone, pick up the phone

**Author's Note:**

> my secret gift for darkwingdukat on tumblr! i hope you enjoy it!! 
> 
> also please forgive the sheer amounts of cheesiness, the ridiculous title, and the silly summary lol
> 
> fic title from the ghostbusters theme song (yes im serious - this proves that anything can sound deep if you take it out of context)

Stan wasn’t entirely sure how he’d found himself tucked between Richie and Eddie on Richie’s tiny twin bed, a stack of VHS tapes balanced precariously on said boy’s bedside table, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. There was no reason to complain at all, in his opinion, despite the fact that Richie’s bony elbow was digging into his ribcage and Eddie’s head was heavy on Stan’s left shoulder.

Eddie flipped the page in the comic book he was reading, rolling his eyes. “Can you just pick a fucking movie, Richie?” he asked, lifting his head from Stan’s shoulder to glare over at Richie.

“I’m workin’ on it, Spaghetti,” Richie said, shooting Eddie a bright grin. He shoved his glasses further up his nose with the back of his hand. “But no one is giving me any opinions.”

Stan heaved a theatrically large sigh and leaned away, letting Eddie flop against the pillows. “Let me see,” he said, tugging a trio of tapes out of Richie’s hands. He flipped through them, eyes skimming the back covers, as Eddie scrambled upright. From the corner of his eye, he could see Eddie sprawling over Richie’s shoulders, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. 

Stan’s stomach flipped with jealousy. “Ghostbusters,” he said, glancing away from the boys. He tossed said movie towards the foot of the bed. “We’re watching Ghostbusters.”

“Again?” Richie asked, gently disentangling himself from Eddie to put the movie into the VCR. “Fuck, I know you’ve got the hots for the Stay Puft guy, Stan the Man, but jeez.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Beep fucking beep, Richie,” he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. 

He could feel Eddie’s eyes on him, staring at the side of his head, but resolutely stared forward. He didn’t want to see those stupid brown puppy dog eyes full of concern, staring into his soul the way that Eddie always did. He hated it. 

Richie turned to look at him, a frown settling across his face, and Stan had to look away from him too. The light reflected off of his glasses to cut some of the worry on his face, but it wasn’t enough to hide it completely. And Stan hated that too.

They shouldn’t be worried about him, was the thing. There was no reason. They should be throwing him out of this room in disgust, actually.

Because what kind of messed up best friend was Stan to be in love with his best friends who were dating  _ each other? _ Just the thought made Stan’s stomach roll, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Are you okay, Stan?” Eddie asked quietly, his voice small in the dim light cast by Richie’s lamp.

Stan bit his lip, staring resolutely at the wall above the television. There was a picture tacked onto the wall there, one that he could just barely make out. Richie, with his arms thrown over Stan and Eddie’s shoulders, grinning cheesily at the camera. They were maybe fourteen at the time. Stan knew that because Richie had still braces, and the thick frames of his glasses were taped together in at least three places; Eddie was wearing a crisp blue polo shirt from back when his mother still choose what clothes he wore; and Stan himself had a tight-lipped smile that was hiding braces of his own. He was turned towards Richie and Eddie, rather than the camera, and the look of complete adoration in his own eyes was enough to make Stan flush red even four years later.

“I’m fine,” he snapped, wincing at the sharp way the words slipped from his tongue. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to not be in that room anymore. He stumbled clumsily to his feet, following that desire. “I’m going to get popcorn.”

With that he hurried across Richie’s room, barely slow enough to pick his way around the maze of discarded clothing and comic books that littered his floor. His left big toe narrowly missed one of Richie’s school notebooks, which had papers filled with equations spilling onto the wood floor. 

He closed the door tightly behind him with slightly more force than necessary and squeezed his eyes shut. “Pull yourself together, Stanley,” he mumbled to himself, before setting off downstairs.

As a kid, Stan had always liked coming over to the Tozier’s house. It was bigger than his own, and messier, but in a lived in way that didn’t make his hands shake as much as it should have. Richie’s older sister, Rebecca, had never seemed annoyed when Stan had slipped away from the noise of his friends on occasion, and had always been willing to let him revel in the quiet of her room. She’d said on occasion that Stanley was like the little brother she’d never had. (Richie had always sputtered indignantly at that, but his eyes gave away his smile.) Stan been just a little devastated when she went away to school when they were twelve.

And if Bex Tozier was a surrogate sister to Stan, the Toziers were a second set of parents. Went and Maggie were busy, but they were always willing to open their home to Stan and the rest of Richie’s friends. Maggie, especially, was always willing to lend an ear to him if he needed it. 

Stan padded into the kitchen on autopilot, easily locating the popcorn (second cabinet from the fridge) and sticking it into the microwave. While he waited, he slid into one of the stools at the breakfast bar and crossed his arms in front of him. He lay his head in his arms and closed his eyes, only keeping half an ear out for the popcorn to slow in its popping.

“Something on your mind, Stanley?” Maggie Tozier’s voice cut through the gloom fogging up Stan’s brain, and he jerked upright. 

Richie’s mother stood on the other side of the breakfast bar holding the bag of popcorn between her thumb and forefinger. She had one eyebrow raised, and her glasses low on her nose so that she could peer over them. “You almost burned the popcorn,” she added, raising the bag as if to illustrate the point.

“Sorry, Mrs. Tozier,” Stan said sheepishly, sliding off of the stool and moving to take it from her. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

She hummed knowingly. “About Richie and Eddie?” she asked, pursing her lips. 

Stan flinched, taking an involuntary step backwards. “What?” he asked, his jaw falling open just a little bit. 

Maggie smiled softly. “I don’t know anything,” she said, voice light. She was lying - Stan knew it. He just didn’t know what about. “You know, my son cares about you an awful lot, Stanley.” 

“He’s my best friend, Mrs. Tozier - both of them are,” Stan replied. She narrowed her eyes at him, and he felt distinctly like he was being dissected. Those dark eyes were so much like her son’s, and between the slight head tilt and the narrow look, she reminds him startlingly of the way that Richie stares right  _ through _ him sometimes, like they were trying to read his mind. Whatever she was looking for she must have found, because suddenly Maggie smiled softly and nodded. 

“I know that, Stanley,” she said, moving to pass him. She pats him on the shoulder, a gesture he’s seen her do to Richie a thousand times. Something half-recognized and motherly, comforting in a way that almost overwhelms Stan in a way that he didn’t expect. It was then that he remembered this woman had known him for fourteen years, since he was just four years old and scrambling after Richie on the playground. “Do what makes you happy, honey.” 

With that cryptic message, she was gone. He could hear her footsteps down the hallway, headed towards the study that she shares with her husband. 

Stan shook his head to clear it. With a glance at the stove’s clock, he realized that he’d been gone for nearly seven minutes, much longer than it should take to make popcorn. If he didn’t hurry, Richie and Eddie would come looking for him. He didn’t want that.

He hurried to make a second bag and dump both of them into a large bowl that is reserved just for movie night snacks, carefully picking it up and beginning to ascend the stairs. For a terrifying moment, he nearly tripped over one of Richie’s discard sneakers. The pile of popcorn wiggled in place precariously, but he managed to make it to Richie’s door without spilling a single kernel.

The door was open now. The television was paused on the opening to Ghostbusters. Eddie sat in the middle of the bed, staring hard at the picture above the TV with his eyebrows furrowed. There was no sign of Richie.

Stan carefully picked his way across the room, far slower and more carefully than when he had left. “Where’s Rich?” he asked, the nickname slipping out of his mouth before he could stop it. Eddie looked up, looking surprised to see Stan, but didn’t comment.

“Bathroom,” he said simply. “What took you so long?”

“Maggie stopped me,” Stan explained, his cheeks turning inexplicably red. If Richie were here, maybe he’d make a joke about it, but Eddie did nothing but frown a little. 

His eyes drifted back over to the picture on the wall. “Do you remember?” Eddie asked, nodding towards it. “That day, I mean? It was, like, Mike’s birthday, right?”

Stan nodded, carefully placing the bowl of popcorn in the small sliver of space left on the bedside table. He frowned at it’s precarious perch, and set about rearranging the junk on the table, happy for something to occupy his hands. “His fifteenth, I think,” he agreed. “Because we all would have been fourteen at the time.”

Eddie glanced back at him. “How do you know?”

Stan sent a cursory glance back up to the picture. “You stopped wearing that shirt in sophomore year,” he said. “And Richie’s braces are that horrible neon green.” He paused, wincing. What kind of friend would remember that stuff? Eddie probably thought he was some sort of freak, now. 

To his surprise, Eddie didn’t comment, simply turning back to that picture and staring for a long time. It was weirdly silent in the room, quiet in a way that Richie Tozier’s bedroom should never be. Stan almost thought that they were done with that line of questioning, when Eddie spoke again.

“I’m gonna ask you a weird question, and I don’t want you to freak out,” he said. 

Stan stiffened, every muscle in his body tensing up. “You can’t just start a sentence like that and expect me to not freak out, Eddie,” he said, forcing his tone to stay light. Casual. Don’t let Eddie know that he felt like he was about to have an asthma attack, and he didn’t even have asthma.

“Did you have a crush on Richie?” he asked. Stan’s heart felt like it stuttered to a halt in his chest. 

He laughed uncomfortably, taking a step back from the now-neatened sidetable. “Where did you get that idea?” he asked, still staring at the table. He won’t look at Eddie. He refused. His cheeks were hot and probably bright pink. The walls felt like they were pressing in on him. He couldn’t breathe.

“Hey, Stan, wait,” Eddie said, and then his voice got closer. Fingers encircled Stan’s wrist, gently pulling him back against a small chest that was so much shorter than him. “Breathe. It’s okay, I was just asking.”

“I don’t like Richie.” Stan knew he was the one saying it, knew that was his voice, but he had no control over them as they left his mouth. “I don’t like you either. Not like that. It would be weird, wouldn’t it? You’re my best friends and you’re  _ together  _ and-”

“Jay-sus Christ, Spaghetti, what did ya  _ say  _ to th’ poor bastard?” Richie’s shitty Irish Cop voice cut through the room. Stan refused to look up at him, curling his hands into tight fists at his sides. There were footsteps, and then Richie whispered furiously to Eddie. One of his hands, calloused in weird places from so many long hours spent playing SNES games instead of doing homework, gently came to rest on Stan’s elbow. 

Stan hated the way that he couldn’t help leaning into the touch. 

“You okay, Stan the Man?” Richie asked cautiously, voice far too gentle to someone who’d gotten the nickname ‘Trashmouth’ at eleven years old. “Eddie just wanted to know.”

So Richie  _ knew _ , had maybe even put Eddie up to it _. _ That maybe made it worse. It was like they making fun of him. Maybe they  _ were _ making fun of him - he wouldn’t put it past Richie, but he thought Eddie was nicer than that. 

“Why?” Stan managed to gasp out, biting hard enough on his lower lip that it brought tears to his eyes directly after. 

Eddie’s soft fingers, the ones that weren’t still circling his wrist, carefully pried Stan’s lip from his teeth. They came to rest on his chin, gently cradling his face. “Breathe,” he whispered again, and Stan squeezed his eyes tight as he tried to follow the instruction.

He could feel Richie and Eddie staring at each other around him, could almost feel the words they were exchanging silently, even if he didn’t know what they were. A sob escaped his throat that he didn’t even realize had been building. “Fuck, Stan, calm down,” Richie said a little desperately. “I can’t explain if you don’t came down.”

With great effort, Stan managed to force his breathing back to something almost considered normal. Eddie carefully pulled him towards the bed, and Stan’s knees bent to sit down without his acknowledgement. He felt the bed dip on either side of him as they sat down, but still refused to look up from a spot on the floor that he had deemed safe. 

“Okay now?” Eddie asked carefully, one hand coming to rest on Stan’s back. He didn’t know why they kept  _ touching _ him, but he wasn’t going to be the one who made the stop. He managed a shaky nod. “Good.”

“Why?” he asked again, licking at his dry lips. Stan didn’t trust himself to say anything else, for fear that he would start sobbing again. He was humiliated enough as it was.

“God, isn’t it fucking obvious?” Richie said, his voice louder than Stan expected. “We’re fucking in love with you, you idiot.”

Stan flinched. “That’s not funny,” he snapped, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears that were suddenly pricking at the back of them. “Beep fucking beep, Tozier.”

Richie let out a huff and his voice lowered again. “It’s not a  _ joke _ , Stan. I wouldn’t joke about that,” he said. His voice was a little pained, like he was genuinely hurt that Stan would think such a thing.

Eddie’s however hummed a little. “Well, actually, you definitely have before. Not… not like that, but I think I’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve proposed to Bev or Bill. Or Mike. Or… any of us, really.” He paused, seeming to consider the next thing he had to say. When he next spoke, he was back to sounding gentle, carefully reaching out to thread his fingers with Stan’s. “It’s not a joke, though, Stan. We… We really  _ like _ you. I think I’ve probably had a crush on you since we were kids.”

Richie cleared his throat. “Mike’s fifteenth,” he said. “I realized then. I made a stupid joke and you just kind of looked at me like I’d grown another head, and I was like ‘oh fuck, I’m in love with this stoic motherfucker.’”

Stan felt a little like his head was spinning. Like he’d just gotten off the Tilt-A-Whirl at the summer festival - which he always rode with Richie because Eddie didn’t trust the festival rides and all the others got nauseous, but Richie was too chicken to ride alone. “But… you guys…” he said, forcing back the bile that was rising in his throat. This was too much. He felt sick.

“Love each other, yeah,” Richie said. Eddie squeaked a little, and Stan could almost hear the fond way that Richie would roll his eyes in response. “Oh, like you didn’t spend half of last night-”

“Beep beep, Chee,” Eddie snapped. Stan knew that if he looked up, Eddie’s cheeks would be almost as red as his own. 

“I thought I was just a creep,” Stan admitted quietly. “I thought… I don’t know what I thought.”

“What does that mean?” That was Richie, his hand gently squeezing one of Stan’s.

“I have to spell it out?” Stan asked, his cheeks impossibly red. He was met with only silence as his answer, and huffed out a frustrated sigh. He wanted to wipe at his teary eyes but with one hand caught in Richie’s and one entangled with Eddie’s it was impossible. “I’ve had crushes on both of you for  _ years. _ ” 

Stan’s admission was met with silence, and he almost thought that maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe this was all an elaborate joke, and Richie and Eddie hadn’t expected him to go along with it. He opened his mouth to stammer out an apology, to say something that could recall the words and their meanings, but then Richie was gasping and threw himself at Stan, knocking both of them sideways into Eddie.

Richie wiggled against him, working himself halfway into Stan’s lap as he lay across him.Eddie was laughing underneath them, shoving at Stan’s shoulders in an attempt to force them upright. “Chee, give him some room,” he was saying, giggling in the way that Stan knew made his nose crinkle up. Richie sat up immediately, dark eyes scanning Stan’s face, but there was a huge, ridiculous grin crossing his face. 

“Do you want to be our boyfriend, Stanley the Manley?” Richie asked, letting go of Stan to fold his hands together pleadingly. There was a red flush creeping up his neck, the only sign that he was embarrassed or concerned about the response. 

Stan glanced at Eddie, who shrugged sheepishly. “Only if you want to, Stan,” Eddie agreed, but there was hope in his eyes as well.

Stan bit his lip and forced the anxiety coiling in his stomach away. Maggie Tozier’s words echoed in his ears.  _ Do what makes you happy, honey. _ “Yes, please,” he said after a long moment of silence. 

Eddie’s smile could have given Richie’s a run for it’s money. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, and Stan had barely managed a nod before the other boy was surging forward, pressing his lips against Stan’s. It felt right - like warmth and like home. Like they were made for each other.

And then Richie was pushing Eddie out of the way, staring deep into Stan’s eyes - dissecting, just like Maggie had - before he too leaned forward. If kissing Eddie felt like home, kissing Richie felt like safety. 

When he finally pulled away, Stan’s cheeks had faded from brilliantly red to a far more subtle pink, and he couldn’t stop the smile that slowly slid across his face. There was a moment of silence where the three of them just stared at each other, smiling like losers in the dim light of Richie’s room. The buzz of the television caught Stan’s attention, and he poked both of them in the knees until they stopped looking so much like a pair of lovesick puppies. (To say nothing of the fact that Stan, too, had the same lovesick, starstruck look on his face.)

“Ghostbusters?” he reminded them gently. “I love you guys, but the Stay Puft guy is my dream man.”

“Stan the Man gets off a good one!” Richie crowed, cackling far louder than the mediocre joke deserved. Eddie and Stan locked eyes and shared a fond smile, shaking their heads in amusement at their boyfriend’s -  _ boyfriend, the word felt like a dream to think in conjunction with them _ \- antics.

The trio curled around each other on the bed, Stan tucked safely in the middle of Richie and Eddie with the popcorn in his lap. Richie took a piece of popcorn and kissed him on the side of the head. Eddie pressed a gentle kiss to his shoulder. 

As the Ghostbusters battled ghosts, Stan curled against his boys, content and warm and happy.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos keep me going! xx  
> come yell at me on tumblr [ @eddiesnapback ](https://eddiesnapback.tumblr.com/)


End file.
